


Rationalizations

by palomino333



Series: Pandora-verse [8]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Parenting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Episode: s03e08 The Empath, Established Relationship, Euthanasia, Family Issues, Friendship, Loss of Trust, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Non-Linear Narrative, Oral Sex, Regret, Self-Sacrifice, Torture, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: Set during and directly after "The Empath." “You allowed your emotions to dictate your way of thinking, and not only endangered yourself, but the captain and me by extension. This cannot be overlooked, doctor.” After his act of self-sacrifice on Minara II, McCoy faces personal and legal ramifications.





	1. Chapter 1

"Your decision is highly unethical."

Spock looked vulnerable like that, completely surprised, and fighting to stay awake. McCoy ached to see him in such a way, the betrayal evident on his face. Spock likely wouldn't forgive him for this, but he found that he didn't much care. He was alive, he was uninjured, and he was safe. It could not have been logical, how he had underestimated his importance. If they were going to get out of here alive, Spock's mind would be needed.

But more so, McCoy knew that it was out of his own guilt that he had done it. Two years ago, he thought he had accidentally blinded the man he had loved. It was a shade of his unhappiness that remained from before that hung over this. He felt that he had to atone. In some ways, his reasoning was also selfish, having grown used to feeling Spock's presence in his mind, and hearing his thoughts. He didn't wish for that connection to be destroyed. He decided against wallowing in self-pity on it; he hadn't been expecting to find someone to want to spend his life with, again, after Jocelyn. If the glimpse of happiness (though not necessarily bliss) was all he could be afforded in his lifetime, then that was enough.

Spock had Jim. He would be all right.

His resignation, however, met a fierce, desperate battle. Spock mentally fought with him as he struggled to stay awake. He pleaded with McCoy to reverse the dosage, and let him go, his mental control slipping with his fading awareness. Fear of what the Vians would do to his lover prickled through him, with grotesque mental images that sent chills racing down McCoy's spine immediately cancelled. McCoy knew he had the upper hand, anyway, but nevertheless decided to soothe his body into sleep. He projected calmness to Spock and shared an image of the two of them having that drink, during the incident involving the Tholians. It would be all right, he projected, it would all be all right, as it had been then.

Spock collapsed beside the bench, and McCoy sighed. It would be the last time that he would ever see him. For it all to end like this…He couldn't be upset over it now. It was too late. Pity he hadn't thought of something poetic to say to Spock, but that would have given him away. He spared Gem one final glance and could see how utterly lost she appeared to be, his fear mirrored back at him. "Take care of my friends," he ordered quietly as the Vians waited for him, "They'll take you home." Gem's face, however, remained lost, and McCoy felt dread descending upon him as he was taken away.

XXXXXX

He thought he heard someone call out to him, but he wasn't sure. McCoy's eyes were open, but he wasn't registering the movements of gold, blue, and a light purple before him.

After some time, the utter horror he'd felt at his own body being mutilated had faded away. He had come to silently accept it, the pain overtaking all of it, leaving him with numbness. He had a name, he thought, but couldn't quite recall it. Someone was cradling his limp body and lying it down upon a soft surface. The voices slowly registered as Jim and Spock hovered over him. Two fingers were placed upon his arm. Spock was kissing him. A last kiss, how romantic. He'd come for him. He shouldn't have done that, he should have taken Jim and Gem, and returned to the ship. But, all the same, Leonard was relieved to see him.

"How long?" Kirk asked quietly, his voice betraying his utter helplessness.

"It could be anytime."

He had to quip with Spock about that. Too bad it caused him to cough. But damned if he came off as too wounded to not resemble himself. He lurched sideways upon the couch and felt Spock's hand steadying him. It always seemed to, but that was silly. He'd only known the man three years out of his long life. How could he place so much importance upon him?

Then again, he had run from companionship, in the past. He had often shirked his emotional problems, or utterly failed to deal with them. Had he not run off to space, he would not be dying now. But he would not have met either of these men that he was willing to give his life for. He'd felt utterly alone without Jocelyn, and alone with her, as well, as their marriage fell apart. He'd gotten lost in his own mind and was short-sighted with what his own daughter was going through. She didn't need him. She needed a parent, not a hollow shell of a man. At least, that was what he'd told himself, and believed, at the time, for as warped as his mind had been. But that couldn't be changed. It was all slipping from him. He was falling into darkness, and little by little, he began drift away.

Spock looked utterly exhausted. He hoped that the Vulcan had remained passed out for most of his session, as the hypo he'd given him been potent enough to last for a few hours. Now, however, he knew that his mate could feel the pain radiating from him. He was sorry about that. McCoy chided himself for being so selfish. He should have cut the bond, and Spock would not have suffered anything. But, whether it was due to a childish or animalistic element buried within him, he couldn't do it. He didn't want to die alone. He could try to cut it now, but given the amount of pain he was in, he could barely see straight, let alone focus upon such a thing.

And Spock was so tired…McCoy knew that he was making it worse, by suffering like this, and dragging him through it, but cutting the bond was another thing. It would rip him from Spock's mind, disorienting him, and leaving a wound where he had once been used to having McCoy's presence. Even ignoring the emotional component, which Spock would not consider or acknowledge, there was simply the fact that he was so used to Leonard, as Leonard was to him. And right now, miles below ground on a lost planet, whose star was about to go supernova, it was the last thing he needed.

Leonard's father had grown philosophical about death, in his weakening state. He'd asked his son not to bring Joanna to visit him, as he didn't want her to see him so sick like this. The only other accepted visitor was Donna. It had taken her longer to be at his side, due to travel from Centaurus. Leonard, meanwhile, had been on Earth, his ship having docked for refit. He was granted leave to care for his ailing father, but it had felt, in some ways, as if he was still on a different world. He was isolated from his hometown, as he had always been, the prodigal son returning to nothing. As for his father, it was if the tension between them had been forgotten. Leonard didn't care, as it wasn't worth it.

David often needed his help to move about, as well as to be fed. His body mass had been greatly reduced, and his was hair falling out. From time to time, he barely recognized his son, save for whenever Leonard raised his head, and locked his gaze on him. He figured, cynically, that his father recognized him as an extension of Eleanora, rather than himself. It was better, he supposed, to be thought of as an extension, than a tumor. Eventually, he had to carry his father, like a baby, to bed. Donna, upon arriving, took over her brother's shifts in the house, even flat out ordering him to go lay down.

It was Leonard who broached the subject one night. Donna had collapsed, exhausted, at the kitchen table, and he'd pushed a plate of food before her. "If Dad stays here, he's not going to live for very much longer," he commented.

Donna solemnly nodded her head. "I know, but wouldn't he want to die here? This is his home."

He folded his arms. "And he wouldn't want to live with wires and machinery sticking out of him."

Donna gave him a pleading look. "Hasn't there been any progress on the cure at all?"

He gestured over his shoulder to the doorway to the hallway. To the left was his father's office, which he had taken over. "I've been checking the feeds constantly. Research is still stalling. Optimists are saying that a cure is around the corner, but progress has looked more like a loop."

"What are you saying, then? We take Dad to a hospital, and hope that maybe he sticks it out long enough for a cure? What kind of life is that?" Donna asked, her voice taking on an edge.

"It's his choice."

She slid her plate aside. "He barely recognizes you, from time to time."

He indicated his uniform, which he had continued to wear off-duty. "Hence, this. Even if he doesn't, I'll still be talking to him as a doctor. This, he recognizes. Maybe it'll make it easier for him to think that way."

"Do what you want," Donna replied in acquiescence, "but don't be surprised by his answer."

He nodded, standing to leave. A half hour later, he descended the stairs, and returned to still find her sitting at the kitchen table, her plate cleared, and staring at the wall. She turned her head sharply at his entrance. "He wants to go," he announced quietly.

"What do you think made him change his mind?" Donna inquired.

"I didn't press him on it, but you remember how Dad was with his patients. He's a fighter."

"Think it'll last?" Donna asked.

Leonard leaned against the door frame. "We'll see," he buried his head in his arm, "I don't want to think about it right now."

Donna sighed. "Len, there was a message for you."

"From who?" He swore. "Is it from Fred? Is it about Joanna?" He dropped his arm. "Is she all right?" He'd been so buried in the feeds that he hadn't paid attention his personal inbox.

She waved a hand. "She's fine. It's about her, though. The Darnells sent it."

He groaned at the mention of his former in-laws. "What do they want? Of course, they'd send a message, even if we're just a few streets apart."

Donna folded her knee and propped it against herself. "They want Joanna."

Leonard's gaze hardened. "They're not getting her. I have a copy of the custody papers in my desk. Don't tell me they're trying this again!" He paced back and forth in anger, "They didn't want anything to do with her while we were married!"

Donna nodded solemnly. "I scanned the copy and sent that to them as a reply. I also told them in polite terms to get lost."

"What excuse are they using this time?" He asked, stopping.

"That you're an unfit father for sending her off to a colony. Centaurus doesn't fit the bill. I attached a copy of the Centaurus City charter, as well," she added. The first argument he'd had with the Darnells over his daughter was that he was mentally unfit, after the divorce, of parenting Joanna. Leonard, while humiliated by the accusations, had defended himself, as he had taken care of her, despite the hole his depression had lowered him into.

While visiting his son and granddaughter, David had taken Leonard aside, and spoke quietly with him about his current circumstances. Despite his anger about not having been reached out to for any assistance or solace before, Leonard had agreed that something needed to be done. He'd been shocked that his father, despite their clashes, cared about him that much. But then David returned to the main room, picked up Joanna, and placed her upon his knee. Leonard shook his head and chided himself. After seeing the poster to join Starfleet, he contacted Donna.

It wasn't petty revenge, he knew that much. It was the fact that she was Jocelyn's daughter. It was a contained community, with the Darnells being one of the oldest. Jocelyn had eventually gotten together with her pre-planned mate, Clay, after all. Leonard knew his in-laws had disliked him for disrupting that arranged marriage and saw Joanna as merely an indicator of that. However, it was likely that other arrangements involving Joanna could be made, and he would not have had a say in it. That was, if the Darnells had their way.

"Thanks," he replied, and she nodded. He realized how much he missed seeing his daughter, although she felt like a lifetime away. He wouldn't expose her to this.

David's resolve eventually ran out, within the confines of the hospital. Leonard's heart sank as his father called him in alone and told him that it was time. Out in the hall, Donna's head was in her hands as she wept. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Len, no. Don't bring this on yourself."

He knelt before her. "Donna, I've shouldered him already. Let me see this through to the end." She raised her blood shot eyes, and he added, "He knows me better than he knows you, now."

She brought her arms about her brother. "I'll go in with you. You'll need a witness, as proof that he wanted you to do this."

Leonard shut his eyes and buried his head in her hair. She used to smell different when she was younger, of sweet smoke, dirt, and cheap booze. Now she smelled of perfume, tropical flora, and metal, all smells of Centaurus. She squeezed him, and he knew that if he backed out, she would take it. But that was exactly why he stood up with a tight nod to her. "We can't keep putting this off," he decided.

Donna nodded, and stood, gathering herself with a sigh.

The room was darkly lit, with McCoy's father appearing to have more in common with a medical dummy than a man. His chest barely rose and fell. His hair had withered way from the illness. He didn't turn his head to register the footsteps of his son and daughter as they reentered the room.

Leonard's sister stood at the closed door, her hands folded, and silently kept vigil.

He had half a mind to remove his ring from his finger, as it seemed like he was taunting his father with the image, but let the thought go. Rather, it seemed fitting, that a reminder of his mother would be there. He scrubbed vigorously at the tears that stung the corners of his eyes. His father slowly turned his head to stare at him, barely able to form an expression upon his face. Leonard nearly turned and walked away, telling himself that he couldn't do it. How could his father have given him permission to take his life? He was in too much pain to think clearly.

David's gaze locked upon something, though not him, exactly. Leonard was caught off guard for a moment, until he realized that it was the ring on his hand. He raised his gaze to him, his eyes narrowing as he registered him standing there. Leonard hesitated at that. Donna said nothing. Donna, for all he could register, was not even there. If David said the word, or gave the slightest indication, he would leave now. For as much as it tore at him to see his father in pain, there was still a chance that a cure could be produced, if only he waited longer. There could have been a chance that his father had reacted emotionally and wanted death in just one moment. While it was legal to euthanize him after receiving consent, he couldn't take it in good faith.

David gave a very slight nod, and Leonard's hand felt like lead. "Dad," he whispered, his hand moving toward the controls for the life support machine, "I'm so sorry." David's eyes drifted shut for the last time.

Leonard felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Donna. She closed her eyes, and solemnly nodded her head. For a moment, he felt as if he was a little boy again, waiting for his father to come home from a long shift at the clinic. Donna's hand remained upon him as he collapsed into a chair next to the corpse and realized that both of their parents were now dead. Donna's blue eyes stared through him, and he figured that she probably saw it, too.

And back in time, all those years ago, his older sister came out and sat on the porch steps with him. Leaning his head on her shoulder, his face pale in the moonlight, Leonard murmured, "Tell me about Mom."

She'd always start by raising a finger to her lips and warning him never to talk about her in front of Dad. When he was little, and asked why, she told him it would only upset him. She'd gone away and would never come back. Leonard, being had found that hard to understand, as they visited a headstone labeled ELEANORA MCCOY four times every year to place flowers.

She'd tell him that Mom was sweet, and intelligent. She enjoyed needlework and gardening. She couldn't carry a tune and was quite stubborn. She was also quite meticulous and tended to argue with their father about matters that bothered her. It was something his sister had in common with her, as well.

Sitting with his head back against the wall, the stairwell beside him, Leonard would listen to his father and sister scream at each other. His sister would take the offensive, and demand that her father stop neglecting his son. His father then would yell at her to hold her tongue. Whenever Donna pressed the point (and she often did) that it was unfair for Leonard to be ignored, her father would say something awful about him. Leonard, overhearing it, would put his head in his knees, and pretend that he did not exist.

"Hey, cowboy," Donna greeted, her elbow propped up on the surface of the bar and staring down into her glass. Her black shawl was draped over her shoulders, and a few telltale signs of her mascara dripping shadowing her eyes. Leonard set his glass down upon the beside her and swung onto the stool. "Anyone else left?"

He shook his head. "Just us. They won't kick us out until another hour."

She put a hand to her forehead. "I probably shouldn't have drunk so much. I'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"It's a wake. You've got a good reason to," he replied, swirling his glass.

Donna lowered her chin to her arm, staring out at the tap. "Tell me about Dad."

He stared into his glass. "He wouldn't want you to hear it."

"I know," she replied, "but what he never understood was that I always saw him like that. He had ugliness within him for much longer than he had the disease."

Leonard raised his glass to his lips. "After Mom died?"

Donna rubbed at her temples. "It's wrong to speak ill of the dead, but it's also wrong to lie." She dropped her hands, her decision made. When she turned her head, he already knew what she was going to say from the utterly pained expression on her face. It twisted a knife that had wedged itself into his heart many years ago. "I had a lot of fights with him about you. It wasn't your fault that Mom died, and it wasn't right for Dad to take it out on you."

"It was either he did, or he railed at the universe. I've done that. It's useless," Leonard replied, putting his face in his hand to avoid looking at his reflection in the bar's mirror.

"Leonard," Donna's voice took on a warning tone, "that doesn't make it right."

"It doesn't matter," he replied, his voice muffled by his hand.

"'It doesn't matter,' he says, while not even being able to look at me," she repeated in annoyance.

He dropped his hand and glared at her. "You weren't there the whole time. I was. I can decide if it matters."

Donna stared down at her lap. "You're just like me, you know. We both run away when things are too much for us."

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "I tried to stay in Conyers. That's more than you did."

"You had a reason. You had your practice, and you had Jocelyn. I didn't have either." She shook her head. "Come on, Len, you can't be this dense. Dad was ashamed of me. The town could at least accept you as a doctor, but me? It wasn't until I got to Centaurus City that I even figured out what I wanted to do with my life."

Silence fell between them. Leonard's fist tightened on the bar. "You stayed for me, didn't you?"

"And if I didn't? Neither of us fit in, there. It was hard to make friends." She cleared a lock of hair away from her face. Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat before trying again. "Mom looked forward so much to having you. I can honestly say that you're one of the best things to happen to me."

"How?" He prompted, "Most of your fights with Dad were about me. If it hadn't been for me, Mom would still be here."

Donna brought her fist down upon the bar. "Damn you, Leonard!" Her glass tipped over, and she barely caught it in time. "You still don't understand, even after all this time. I loved hearing about how much you wanted to be a doctor, when you were little. With Dad away so much, you kept me company. I liked to teach you about the world and see what interested you."

"You were parenting me. Dad should've been there," Leonard pointed out, guilt descending upon him, "You shouldn't have fought with him over me. It only made things worse."

"If it did, then, I'm sorry." Donna sighed. "Len, we've got to quit meeting like this."

"Not as if I plan it that way," he muttered bitterly, "I hadn't often heard from you during my marriage and divorce, either."

"I was on a different planet, it's a little difficult to communicate," she replied evenly.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that claptrap! It's not as if you were part of a colony! Centaurus is a highly populated world."

"And you didn't call me much either. I didn't know how bad it was. When it comes to your problems, you hide things. It's hard to tell when something's bothering you."

The anger slowly died from his eyes. "What has Joanna told you?"

She braced her chin against the side of her hand on the bar. "She says that some nights, you and Jocelyn really scared her with how loudly you yelled at each other. It woke her up a few times." He looked away in embarrassment, recalling a couple of occasions when either Jocelyn or he comforted her before coaxing her back to sleep. Donna's eyes narrowed, and her arm dropped. "From what she tells me, I'd better not catch Jocelyn near you again."

His vision locked back on hers. "Not all of the fights were started by her." Several of them, to the point where he'd lost count, had been started by him, as well. Stressed and exhausted by long days at work, and used to their arguments, McCoy had instigated, channeling his negativity into a fight with her. It was childish, and only helped to widen the rift between them.

"Maybe not," she commented, "but you didn't take them that far."

"Doesn't matter, she's gone," he replied dismissively.

Donna shook her head. "Don't be so sure." Letting go of her glass, she cracked her knuckles. "I can see it in your eyes. If Jocelyn came back tomorrow, got on her knees, and begged you to take her back in, you would do it."

"I married her!" McCoy shouted in disdain, "Of course I would take her back!" Realizing how loudly he'd yelled at his sister, he sheepishly turned to take a swig. Placing the glass back down, he breathed hard before continuing, "But it won't happen. She's not coming back, and she never will."

Donna took a breath before continuing, "Joanna also told me that you always seemed sad after Jocelyn had gone. You took care of her well, but you couldn't hide that from her."

"I had a feeling," he muttered.

She lifted her hand, indicating that she didn't want to fight with him any longer. "I don't profess to know what you're going through. I imagine that if Fred left me, I'd be a wreck, too. But what I do know is that your daughter misses you." Donna tilted her head back and drained her glass before thumping it down on the bar. "I adore Joanna, but I don't want to replace you in her life."

"It's better than she's with you, anyway, after the bastard I've been."

She leaned forward. "Hon, you're not going to be happy if you continue to see yourself like that. And that's something I can't help you with."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"I know that. I'm only saying it because you're my brother, and I love you," she slid off her stool, and walked away, her high heels tapping over the floor tile. Glancing over her shoulder, she called, "Take that for what it's worth."

XXXXXX

McCoy wasn't sure if his life signified much of anything. He'd ruined his first marriage by devoting his life to medicine, and for what? He might be remembered in the medical books, but that was about it.

He'd swum in and out of consciousness while the Vians had tortured him. Groaning, barely awake, he'd muttered, "Why three of us? Why not just me?"

"You are interchangeable, Doctor," one of them had replied simply, "If the empath fails, she will have two more chances. There are so many of you involved with the Federation. We can expend you."

He coughed, and hacked up blood on the floor, his body lurching. Having his feet dangling above the floor had caused him to lose his center of gravity. "Why not contact the Federation, then? We could help you. We could even save you."

The Vians looked at each other and let out sighs. One of them turned back to him. "You do not understand. We are the only two who remain. We have killed each other."

"Why?" McCoy rasped.

One of the Vians stepped back and indicated the room with a wave of his instrument. "Technological devotion. Our lives became meaningless in comparison."

"I don't understand." Squeezing his eyes shut, he yelped in pain as one of them sent a pulse through him that spread throughout his nerve endings. He jerked on the chains.

"This conversation would have been more productive, had it been with the Vulcan," one of the Vians commented. The other nodded.

"Don't touch him," McCoy groaned out.

"Doctor, you do not have that privilege of determination any longer."

"Fine, I ain't too proud to beg. You want to dissect me, then go ahead. Keep me alive through all of it. Revive me if you must. Just don't harm him."

One Vian shook his head. "Doctor, you don't understand. You aren't our object of interest. Rather, you are an instrument."

McCoy tilted his head to the side. "Beg your pardon?"

"We wish to leave behind our greatest legacy, to right our wrongs," the other Vian replied, "We wish to leave a society built upon compassion, and goodwill, as opposed to war and unfettered innovation."

"But to do it at the expense of others? How ethical is that? The Federation—"

"Interferes," one of the Vians cut him off, "This is our territory, to be cultivated as we see fit. It has been for generations."

"You didn't communicate with us. That outpost—" McCoy cried out as a blade sliced into his uniform, and tore into the skin beneath. He breathed heavily as his blood seeped down. He was beginning to think that the Vians were just not willing to listen to a contrary opinion. Perhaps they were also as single-minded as their computers, if that was their point. However, if there only two of them, it was also likely that they were attempting to hold onto whatever precious little power they had left.

"We were the dominant power in our domain for centuries, McCoy. We will keep our claim."

"You don't have the right!" McCoy spat. His lungs felt as if they were being squeezed, and he coughed, straining for air.

"Neither do you, yet your Federation explores, and takes the planets it desires. We wish only to lead the next race to fruition."

"Eugenics and genocide," McCoy commented, "This isn't about mercy, is it? This is your own pride."

"We do not want to fade. We want to leave a gift. The gift must not be extinguished." For once, an emotion, fear, seemed to enter the Vian's voice.

"And is this how you want to create your gift?" McCoy questioned.

"Doctor, you are one to talk. You and your commander were nearly lost, many times over, in your own histories," one of the Vians replied, "You cling so much to life for your own selfish purposes."

"I am only harming myself!" He replied evenly.

"That is comforting for you, but you are not in our position. You have but your captain and your commander to worry over. We have far more."

"Then tell us! Don't subject us to this! We can help you!" McCoy exclaimed in desperation.

"We do not want your help. We want our legacy. It is ours alone."

"Not when you're murdering innocent people to have it!" McCoy cried.

The Vians exchanged one last glance. "We have spent long enough arguing with you. It will not matter, as we will also be dead."

"Then that is your legacy, as well. Soak it up," McCoy hissed.

"We know, doctor, we know," one of the Vians replied before lifting a white-hot instrument toward him.

XXXXXX

Lying upon the couch proved to have a different reflection to him. Spock's gentle touch conveyed other memories to him, which he had considered not as important, but were viewed in a different lens. McCoy often spoke with Kirk, who valued his opinion, and leaned upon him for support. Jim would be lost without him. Several crewmembers had owed their lives to him, and his staff had thrived under his guidance. He hadn't much thought of it, curmudgeon he'd considered himself to be.

As for Spock himself, his mind was like a labyrinth, in that it consistently shifted. McCoy hadn't helped him to sort it out, as he lacked the resources to do so, but he had been a torch, a flame Spock could carry with him for warmth, and solace, if only for a while. While McCoy ribbed him over his different manner of thought, he had defended him, multiple times, for being who he was. He had a place with this human man, and now he was drifting away. He didn't have to weep, for Leonard could feel his despair.

It all seemed a fantasy, a sweet dream to keep him at peace. For all he knew, the afterlife was but a lie, and he was consigned to oblivion. His faith slipped further and further from him, as he felt his life force slipping from his fingers. He was facing utter obliteration, out of sight, out of mind. No love, no gentle touch of a friend could pull him back from the unknown.

But then, Spock called to him. "I will find you there, Ashayam."

Struck by his words, McCoy's eyes widened, and he rasped, "You've got a good bedside manner, Spock." Spock's eyes widened, and he released a breath. It pained McCoy to see him so upset, but it seemed whatever comforts he was offering his mate just weren't working anymore. He wanted to ask Spock why, but he was too tired. He leaned his head to the side and closed his eyes. He'd wait for his mate, wherever he was. It didn't make sense, but it gave him faith to cling to.


	2. Chapter 2

His th'y'la was safe.

That was the only positive aspect of it, really. Spock stood before Kirk's desk with his hands folded behind his back. Kirk's disdain was quiet, but still plain. McCoy was to his right, his hands similarly folded. Despite their proximity to each other, the three felt far apart.

"Both of you are senior officers on this ship," Kirk began quietly, "You each know that you serve as an example to those under you. Your rank and privileges were awarded to you for your effort and devotion to Starfleet. Both of you have been commended for your efforts, and achievements," he paused, and continued, "That said, you both must also adhere to the rules regarding your rank. Frankly, I'm disappointed." His vision flicked over to McCoy. "No matter your rationale, Dr. McCoy, you assaulted your captain and your commander. That goes beyond rank. You rendered two individuals, who relied upon your care, unconscious without their consent."

McCoy refused to talk out of turn, but he drew himself up tighter. Kirk continued, "You went against your oath as a doctor. Had it not been for your track record as this ship's CMO, I would be seriously reconsidering the rationale of having you hold that rank." McCoy internally burned with humiliation, but externally gave an understanding nod of the head. "Which is why, at 1100 hours tomorrow, I will hold a court martial. I expect to see you there on time, lieutenant commander." McCoy's gut twisted, but he kept himself steady. It felt like a bad joke, or a farce, but no one was laughing. Tomorrow, he would face his best friend at the opposite set of a courtroom and try to justify himself legally. Jim was alive, and angry with him. "Dismissed, McCoy."

"Captain," he acknowledged curtly, about-facing to walk away.

"Doctor."

McCoy stopped, and turned at Spock's voice. "Yes?"

"Report to my office in half an hour. I must speak with you further regarding your actions today."

"Fine," McCoy replied curtly, "If you want to retread the point, I won't stop you."

When the doors shut after him, Kirk turned his attention back to the remaining man in the room. "Mr. Spock, you aren't clean of this, either." The Vulcan inclined his head in a slight nod. "You could have stopped Dr. McCoy from putting me to sleep, but you didn't do it. While I respect your judgment, this is where I draw the line." Not very long before, they had acted the parts of madman and traitor in the incident involving the Romulans. This bore an echo of that. "You conspired with Dr. McCoy in this, and he nearly died on your watch as a result. You will also be court martialed for your neglect of duty."

Spock made no argument. "I understand, Captain."

"I will hold your court martial after Dr. McCoy's, so your testimonies do not cross."

"I am sure the doctor will be honest in testifying. As will I. Our duty to the Enterprise comes first," Spock agreed.

"I find that harder to believe, now," Kirk replied disappointedly.

"You may believe what you wish, captain, and I understand your reasoning for such. I will admit, as you have said, that I am not clean in this. I had nearly lost one captain. I will not lose another, if it can be helped."

Kirk thought of how Spock had nearly thrown away his entire career for Captain Pike's sake. "Perhaps it is what makes us human, Mr. Spock," he allowed, "But isn't that a part of us that concerns you?"

"I may have become," he glanced down, and Kirk wondered if he was kneading his hands behind his back, though he quickly shoved away the notion, "too involved with humans as of late. I was out of line."

Kirk sighed. "I'm grateful that you both were. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"You do not know that, captain. Gem did attempt to sacrifice herself for Dr. McCoy."

"Are we taking that on faith?" Kirk asked, raising a finger from his desk.

"You have done so with several of your decisions," Spock pointed out.

Kirk lowered his finger, and the conversation shifted to a slightly more personal tone. "Have you talked with McCoy about this?"

"He is only qualified to psychologically discuss human minds. I partially fit that category." Kirk wondered if Spock was not telling him the full story on that, as it would have been too personal between his first officer and CMO. Their bond complicated matters, in more ways than one. Grasping the back of the chair before Kirk's desk, Spock sat down. "It is not that Vulcans lack emotions, it is the fact that indulging them has led, historically, to near-extinction. This was a lapse in judgment that I was unsure would entirely work."

Kirk wanted to ask Spock if he was slightly reaching but decided against doing so. They'd had this conversation before. Instead, he inquired, "We have two more years, Mr. Spock. Do you want to stay?" He hoped he'd say yes but wanted to be point blank with him.

"Yes, but I have much to think on." He turned his gaze from Kirk, his look becoming faraway.

"You have a place with us, you know," Kirk commented.

"I do not desire to be among humans," he replied, releasing a short breath through his nostrils at the irony of his statement.

Kirk shook his head, causing him to glance back up at him. "Not among humanity, Spock. You aren't the only non-human crew member we have, and many of us don't exactly fit with the model template of a human being."

"Captain, you have just said that we only have two more years here. That is little consolation."

"What about you and Bones?" Kirk asked quietly.

"That is a matter too personal," Spock responded.

"Sorry." However, Kirk saw Spock's dark eyes dart about again. He wondered as to what Spock was thinking but didn't press him. He did, however, add, "I suppose you'll have to determine what is worthwhile to you."

Spock folded his hands upon the desk. "That I have decided already for myself, as Minara II demonstrated. My concern is to what this will entail for the future."

"That no one knows, Mr. Spock."

The Vulcan rose, and remembered himself, as this was a disciplinary meeting. "Permission to be dismissed?"

"Granted."

After the doors to his office had shut behind his first officer, Kirk sat in quiet contemplation. Finally, he rose and went to his room's comm. "Captain Kirk to bridge."

"Uhura here, sir."

"Lieutenant, please report to my office. I wish to discuss an assignment with you."

"Aye, sir."

Standing before him, Uhura commented "It's possible, but I can't make any guarantees."

"But it can be done?" Kirk inquired optimistically.

She nodded, her hands tracing over the chair Spock had earlier occupied. "In theory. When a communication over radio waves is released, it does not simply die off once the radio is shut off. Rather, it continues, similarly to a shockwave, through the atmosphere of a planet, and ripples outward into space. A civilization we have yet to discover, for example, might pick up our Terran radio waves from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries to this day, due to their interstellar travel and distance. This scenario, however, is different."

"The star will supernova," Kirk pointed out.

Uhura shook her head. "It's not just that. You are asking me to place a message in a bottle for multiple civilizations. Captain, we aren't even sure if any of these civilized peoples have made it to radio wave technology yet, or for that matter, have developed written or spoken language. It took the Isitri until recently, for example, to develop a written language."

Kirk nodded gravely, remembering the tragic encounter with Berlis. "How much time do you have?"

"Starting now is the best option, but as I said, sir, I can't guarantee anything. We only have the Vians and Gem to go off. Gem's people might have had a written language, since she is mute, but again, I don't know." She tapped her fingers in agitation against the back of the chair. "Mr. Spock's people are telepathic by touch, but they communicate verbally and through the written word, as well."

"It's worth a try, though, isn't it?" Kirk asked.

Uhura nodded. "Sir, the preservation of the legacy of life, no matter how different it is from our own, is worth it. I will give my best effort."

Still she hesitated, and Kirk inquired, "Something's troubling you?"

Uhura sighed. "Captain, can this be off the record?"

Kirk slowly nodded.

Relieved, she allowed her expression to gentle. Worry, however, overtook it. "I just don't think I can take the official story of this at face value."

"What do you mean?" Kirk inquired.

Uhura began to pace back and forth. "The Federation established an outpost on a faraway world, and three researchers suddenly go missing. They are later found dead. Just as suddenly, a captain, a first officer, and a surgeon investigate a distress call. The surgeon ends up being tortured within an inch of his life. It doesn't make sense."

"Do you think the distress call was false?" Kirk asked.

"No, I would not allow that to happen. I have checked over it multiple times."

He pointed out, however, "We had a colony on another planet, and were not aware of the Gorn. This might be a similar situation."

Uhura's head swung so sharply that her earrings rattled. "The Gorn didn't live below the colonists' feet. The Vians did. Seismic testing would have detected them." Uhura's throat moved, and she swallowed. Kirk allowed her to speak, despite how clearly disturbed she appeared to be. "No, someone must have known. Someone is not speaking."

Kirk felt his stomach drop. "Why not? How can you be so sure?"

"As a communications officer within Starfleet, I can only access the channels that are afforded to the fleet proper. While this gives me more information than a civilian channel, there are several levels that are still off-limits."

"Starfleet Intelligence," Kirk offered.

"Not just that. Imagine, if you will, that someone has dug into a layer of rock, and stripped it out from the side. Mankind used to that often in the twentieth century, when travel by automobile was common. The earth was molded to fit with the demands of travel." She held her hands, one above the other. "Each layer of rock is differently-colored by age."

"You want to be able to dig deeper into them, and discover that information," Kirk surmised.

Uhura nodded. "Exactly. Hence, command might not be the proper track for me."

Kirk smirked, attempting to defuse the situation with humor. "Should've known you wanted a promotion."

Uhura laughed and dropped her hands. She sobered, however. "It just bothers me, in going over Dr. McCoy's report, what the Vians said to him. Either they're lying, or they know more about the Federation than we think. It's possible that they could have interrogated the researchers about the Federation, but that," she grimaced, "wasn't their aim. This doesn't make sense, if this was the first recorded instance of first contact with them."

"Yes, 'if,'" Kirk agreed, "But that's a big 'if.'"

"Hence, why I wanted this off the record. I can't throw around accusations without evidence. But, theoretically, if the Vians tried talking to the Federation about this situation before, why wouldn't we have helped?" She asked.

"The prime directive," he offered, "Though that tends to be bent when lives are put at risk."

Uhura shrugged. "Depending upon the captain."

Kirk gave her a sideways look. "If you're going to insult me, I can put this back on record."

She grinned. "Just pointing out a factor. But if that was it, it would have been more publicized."

"We are at a stand-off with the Klingons," Kirk offered, realization donning on him. Uhura nodded. "Evacuating multiple races would have been too large of a diversion of resources."

"And now that the star is going supernova," she held her hands up in the air, "Oh well." Kirk's fist clenched on the desk, and he released it. Noticing his reaction, she added, "And that's why I hope I'm wrong."

"It's still nagging at you, though," he commented.

She drew herself up, her voice hardening. "I'm not willing to let the matter sit. Even if it takes me decades, I want to see that information of what truly went on, involving Minara II. I nearly lost my friend because of this."

"And what will you do with the information, once you have it, Uhura? I can tell you what pursuing vengeance leads you towards," Kirk questioned.

"Not vengeance. I want the truth."

He nodded. "Just be sure that is what you continue to pursue."

Uhura inclined her head toward him. "I'll follow that. You know that I respect your judgment."

"Good," he replied, "Will we be going back on the record?"

Uhura straightened up and nodded. "Yes, and I do believe I have an assignment to complete."

He smiled. "Dismissed, Lieutenant."

An hour later, Kirk sighed in exhaustion at his desk. If he was to be prepared for the court martial, he would need to finish his notes about his officers, as well as the overall mission report. Progress was dragging for an understandable reason on the former. He ordered a cup of coffee from the replicator, and sat back down to continue, time ticking away silently.

Kirk rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to think about court martialing Spock and Bones. He was tired of fighting with them, and of feeling so utterly useless, as he had on that planet. He agonized over the fact that he hadn't been able to turn the incident on Minara II to his favor, as he usually was able to. What other races were going to be sacrificed, if Gem's was to survive? He felt sickness in his gut as the image of McCoy, limp in his arms, burned itself through his mind again. He'd nearly lost someone so very close to him, and it pained him utterly. It didn't matter that McCoy had been willing to die for him, but that it had gone that far.

It wasn't the first time that he'd felt so utterly powerless, and he hated the feeling. Anger had burned through him when Claudius Marcus had forced him to watch, at gunpoint, Spock and McCoy fighting for their lives. Feeling helpless as a captain meant that someone was going to die, and it would be his fault.

But then, when he fretted over whether he had made the right decision, McCoy picked him up from the ground. He should've known that he would've done it, especially with how the doctor had his ear on the bridge. And for as wounded as he was, if Kirk had been given his way, and submitted himself to the Vians' torture, he likely would have been dead by the time Spock and McCoy had found him. He swallowed hard at the prospect. He owed the doctor his life. Hence, he intended to afford him some leniency in this, and especially toward Spock, who he technically couldn't prove to be a premeditated conspirator, rather a situational conspirator.

But his trust in his friends had still been tempered by this, well-intentioned as it was. He should have known it would happen. Spock had even pointed it out before, but he hadn't fully acknowledged it (and the Vulcan, for that matter, was eating his words now). The court martial was then needed to set a precedent from thereon. Though even now he wondered as to its effectiveness. He tapped his fingers. What did he want, then, a ship of complete strangers, who adhered strictly to protocol? Or a ship with his loyal companions, but that posed a risk of something like this happening again? He was too exhausted to think on it, and just wanted to sleep.

Two figures soundlessly drifted before him. Looking up, he realized he was half in dream world already. Edith, in her overcoat and hat from that fated night, stood quietly over his desk. She removed her hat to hold in one hand. Gary stood to her left in his gold uniform, his eyes warm and lacking the glow his mental powers had given him. Kirk's hand fell to the back of his chair as Gary took a soundless step toward him, his hands coming before himself to clasp together. Placing them down upon the table, Gary slowly opened them. Three upturned shells slid apart from each other as he drew his hands further apart and dropped them upon the desk.

Adhering to the logic of his waking dream, Kirk watched intently as Gary lifted the middle shell, and revealed a red rock beneath it. Bringing the shell down, he spun them, Kirk keeping track of the rotating positions. When he stopped, Kirk pointed at the leftmost shell. Gary lifted it, and Kirk's eyes widened in surprise as it revealed nothing. He pointed at the middle shell, only to find nothing. Frustrated, he pointed at the last one, only to let out a breath of surprise to find nothing there, as well.

Gary looked up at Edith. "He doesn't get it, Edi," he commented mournfully.

Edith frowned. "It's really quite sad."

Kirk looked between them. "What don't I understand?" He asked.

Keeler reached into her hat and pulled out the stone. "You will not win," she replied. Kirk was taken aback at how out of character that was for her to say. "Yet," she continued, "you still cannot fathom losing."

"You've lost both of us," Mitchell added, "You seek to gain more ground for the Federation, or is it for yourself? Your own claim to fame? Your own immortality?"

Kirk lowered his head. "Forgive me, but it had to happen."

"Forgive you? You only adhered to arithmetic," Edith replied curtly, "What are two human lives in the face of millions? What is a sweet dream in the face of harsh reality?"

"Reality is not so harsh," Kirk argued, raising his head, "Humanity is at its zenith now, with the Federation."

"At the cost of us, Jim," Gary replied quietly.

"I had no choice," Kirk pointed out.

"Then why do you mourn?" Edith asked.

He loved them both so much. Here they stood before him, intangible, yet so close. In another lifetime, he would have married Edith. Had Gary not proved himself to be a genuine threat to mankind, the five-year mission would have seen him at Kirk's side, and in his bed.

"I miss you," Kirk replied.

"It's not enough for you, Jim," Gary commented, "to see new worlds, and accomplish great things. You want more, so you seek more. It will never be enough."

"It won't bring us back," Edith added, and Gary nodded.

"I'm not looking to bring you back. I'm looking to live on," Kirk corrected, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended.

"Yet you conjure us," Edith replied, "You think of us still."

"You won't be satisfied, Jim," Gary pressed.

"Only I can determine that," Kirk argued.

"Are you?" Edith asked.

Kirk hesitated, and Gary commented in a low tone, "That's what I thought." Edith put on her hat, and drifted away through the wall, while Gary walked through it.

Kirk rubbed at his eyes, stood, and walked toward his bed. He needed to get more sleep and think less. However, he knew would not adhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit upfront that this chapter is purely reaching on my part. Most likely, the fact that the Vians didn't contact the Federation about their dying star is just a plot hole, but it was fun to attempt to fill it in. According to the novel Cloak by S.D. Perry, Section 31 did exist during TOS's era, which is what I am leaning towards in who was passing the buck about Minara II. I like the idea of cracks appearing in the surface of the Federation, even before the TOS films pointed it out. However, in retrospect, it makes TOS's optimistic tone seem misguided, if not sad.
> 
> Uhura, according to Crucible: McCoy, eventually does join Starfleet intelligence. I thought this incident would be interesting impetus for her to consider that path. Uhura's "message in a bottle" is from the fact that AM and FM radio waves (on Earth) are generated by tapping into the waves radiating off the sun. It is true, scientifically, that they will continue to travel through space for many lightyears. Uhura is admitting, however, that she's not sure this will work due to Minara II's "sun" dying, and the fact that it is a different star from Sol. Her conversation with Kirk was written while I listened to "Nothing More To Do Here" from the Resident Evil 2 soundtrack.
> 
> Berlis and the Isitri are from Troublesome Minds by Dave Galanter. It is one of the few Trek novels I've seen so far that seriously puts Spock through the wringer.


	3. Chapter 3

"When I make a command," Spock began, his arms folded behind his back, "I expect for it to be followed. You may be the ship's surgeon, but I still outrank you."

McCoy stood quietly in front of Spock's desk, his back to it, while his commander stood directly before him. "As ship's surgeon," McCoy replied evenly, "My judgment can, and does, supersede yours and the captain's, when it involves putting the health of the crew at risk. The incident on Minara II counted as that, as you were both my crewmates."

"Perhaps," Spock allowed, "but that was grossly negligent on your part to place both the captain and myself unconscious. We did not fully know Gem's intentions, and as you can recall, there were two Vians. It was just as likely, at the time, that they would have visited mistreatment upon the captain and myself while we were left undefended."

"I offered myself as a distraction," McCoy corrected, "I kept the Vians' interest in me. They only wanted one man at a time."

"You had no reason to trust them, doctor."

"Neither did you."

"Perhaps not, hence why my strategy would have been more useful. You would still have been awake therefore you would have been able to defend the captain and Gem. Your strategy left all of us undefended. As a result, Gem is gone from us."

McCoy winced, and gathered himself to argue back, "What about our bond, if you went?"

"That is not an appropriate topic to discuss."

"Like hell it isn't," McCoy muttered, "Our bond can, and does, affect us mentally, which can lead to physical impairments. You were unconscious while I endured most of my torture session. Had you been awake, our synchronization would've crippled you."

"That is because you did not cut our bond," Spock replied with a wave of his arm.

McCoy scowled. "And I could trust you to go through with it, if you went? Spock, you didn't when I was dying on Yonada. I couldn't trust you to do so." Spock broke eye contact with him, the side of his mouth twitching. McCoy pressed, "I'd be on my knees from the pain. How could I be useful to the captain?"

"The bond works both ways, doctor," he reminded him.

McCoy's hands tightened on Spock's desk, and he refused to say anything.

"My point is simple," Spock replied coolly, "You allowed your emotions to dictate your way of thinking, and not only endangered yourself, but the captain and me by extension. This cannot be overlooked, doctor." McCoy was silent as Spock continued, "As for your disciplinary court martial, that is left for the captain to determine. However, my recommendations are as follows, and I will place them before the captain. I am also at liberty to enforce them." McCoy's gaze hardened, but he continued to say nothing, his hands remaining folded behind him. Spock lifted a hand. "Denial of shore leave and reduction in recreational privileges until further notice. And unless you are specifically called, or in the case of an emergency, no venturing onto the bridge."

McCoy nodded curtly. He'd expected, at worst, to face a demotion, or an outright stripping of his rank for technically assaulting his commanding officers. Spock was being lenient with him, though he doubted it was due to their bond. He could feel Spock's frustration and disdain with him for acting out of turn. Perhaps it was because what he'd done it wasn't out of maliciousness that Spock was being gentler.

"Regardless, however, I will be placing a formal reprimand in your record for your insubordination." Spock lowered his hand, and McCoy's gaze grew less intense. "That is the conclusion of our meeting."

McCoy nodded, and turned to walk away.

"I have not dismissed you, doctor," Spock called after him.

"Would this conversation be considered unofficial?" McCoy inquired, looking over his shoulder at him. Spock curtly nodded his head. The cold formality of his dressing down began to slip off, uncovering the rawness of their bond as he turned about, his arms falling. His throat moved as he felt the mental pain Spock had endured beginning to drag itself to the forefront again. Little time for adjustments had been afforded, given the Enterprise's navigation away from the dying star, and McCoy's disciplinary hearings. Spock's stare was intense, but he wasn't moving.

McCoy's fist clenched once at his side, and he released it. He started quietly forward.

Spock seized him by the shoulders, anger burning through him. McCoy swallowed, but held his ground. Rarely, had he seen Spock become so furious, and it was directed at him. This no longer was commander to subordinate, rather it was lover to lover. The rawness scared him more than much else. Spock's arms wobbled, indicating that he was fighting to help his self-control. His voice, when he spoke, bore a slight growl. "How dare you." McCoy held his gaze, despite wishing to look away. If he did, then he would have to consider it lost. "How dare you do that to yourself."

"I couldn't let them hurt you!" McCoy defended himself, "It's ethical for me to knock out Jim, but when I do it to you, suddenly it's wrong. Which is it, Spock?"

"You acted against my direct orders. I have already spoken to you as your commander on this issue. I will not do so again," he responded, "I would have lived, had it fallen to me. They would have allowed us to go."

He shook his head. "Not as you are now."

"You do not know that. The probability was not 100 percent."

McCoy took a step back in annoyance, Spock refusing to let go of him. "Oh, for Christ's sake, can you put away the cold calculus for just one minute?! Mine was lower than yours and look what happened to me!"

"Leonard," Spock hissed warningly. McCoy stopped his train of thought, though they both knew exactly where it was leading. Spock's nails dug into his shoulders, his glare hardening. "You think me that cold, that I would simply move on from losing you. You think yourself disposable, that your death will not be worthy of note or mourning. For your pontifications about my grasp on emotion being slack, you seem to have a warped view, yourself." Spock's hands moved from his shoulders. One caught McCoy by the waist, and the other grasped him from the back of the head to pull him in for a searing kiss.

McCoy's cry of surprise was caught in the kiss. Spock growled possessively in his throat, and deepened it, bending him slightly backward. Opening his mouth broader, Spock traced his tongue over McCoy's teeth before probing deeper to explore the inside of his mate. The doctor moaned, and met his tongue with his own, twisting and dancing about each other. He grasped Spock's shoulders, holding on tightly, and groaning something that was lost.

In his mind, however, he could feel a passionate anger burning through his mate. There was a righteous fury directed at the Vians for harming him, though it was not in a general sense, rather it was in a more personal sense. The soft, succulent human flesh that he had run his teeth and tongue over had been ripped into. McCoy's voice tended to be lower pitched in his bed, his drawl more pronounced. The occasions when he cried out, Spock felt tender about them. He didn't wish to imagine McCoy groaning and calling out from the pain of his torture. However, he had felt it as an echo in the bond. But most disturbing had been the utterly dead look in Leonard's eyes when Spock, Kirk, and Gem had found him hanging like a piece of meat. Eyes that were usually narrowed in concentration or blazing in frustration during one of their verbal sparring sessions. Eyes that shone when he was alone with the doctor. Eyes that held a gentleness to them whenever he was caring for a patient.

But so much frustration was directed at McCoy, as well, for not listening to him, and for sacrificing himself. Minara II had been subjected to a supernova, and, perhaps dramatically, Spock felt the same about losing him, his world left in darkness and confusion. McCoy, however, retaliated on that point, his own loneliness, felt for decades through familial and societal issues of his own, his father and Jocelyn, and his town, mirroring those of Spock, namely Sarek and Vulcan society itself.

Spock drew out of the hard kiss, hesitantly releasing the doctor. Straightening up, McCoy noticed saliva falling from the corner of his mouth. Reaching out his thumb, he wiped it off. Something caught the light under Spock's eye, and the Vulcan turned his head away, raising the heel of his hand to his face. McCoy didn't comment on it. Spock's shame of his losing his grip on his emotions was painful. In some ways, it was an addiction. It seemed the closer Spock drew to him, the more he ran the risk of faltering away from logic. McCoy had considered pulling away because of this, and, likely, Spock had considered doing the same. And yet, here they were. He'd seen it, through their bond, why. Spock trusted him, not just on the level of comradeship, but implicitly. He couldn't figure why, at first, considering Spock's criticism of his point of view.

Lowering his head to keep from looking at Spock, and humiliating him further by watching him, McCoy swallowed his pride. "I'm sorry." He felt disgusted with himself. While he would not have made his choice any differently, Spock's erosion of emotional discipline, as a result, had humiliated him. The room was silent, Spock's head turned from him. McCoy waited quietly as his mate carefully composed himself again. Spock turned back to look at him, his arms lowering to his sides. Leonard swallowed, and knew that he had every right to be shown the door, given what had done. "Apology accepted," he replied.

McCoy ran a hand over his face. "What's wrong with us?"

"You have psychological training. I do not," Spock pointed out.

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're not helping." He dropped his hand and stared up at Spock.

The Vulcan shrugged. "It is complicated. Perhaps we will never understand it."

But McCoy couldn't walk away from it. For his own part, the addiction went a different way. Spock's way of thinking had at first seemed callous in its cold logic (and at times, still did), but there was, as he better became used to him, warmth. He was loyal, and fiercely devoted to those for whom he had a degree of care. His emotions, restrained as they were, ran deep, and bled through the bond at weaker moments. It wasn't out of selfishness that McCoy stayed, though he did feel grounded, by having a relationship where his lover, without dispute, would drag him back from the edge. Rather, it was out of care for a lonely man, as well as a fascination with him. Long nights he'd spent, mulling over it on his own. Others, when he'd fallen asleep in Spock's quarters, he'd awoken to find himself in the Vulcan's bed, a blanket thrown over him, and an affectionate tug on their bond. He felt that soft tug, once more, and realized that Spock also understood.

McCoy swallowed, and asked, "Will you marry me?"

"Yes." Spock's answer was not romantic, rather it was a statement of fact. He raised an eyebrow. "Though I will comment that your sense of timing is rather odd."

McCoy grinned. "I find it fitting, in a theatrical sense. I was willing to give everything for you, back there."

"How illogical," Spock replied, but caught himself with a slight smile.

He looked too cute like that, McCoy thought to himself. He grasped Spock's hand, and brought it to his lips, his eyes not leaving his. Spock's hand arched upward under his lips, and a ragged groan tore from his throat. His fingers splayed out, and McCoy lowered his mouth to them, nipping on them. He raised his eyes to meet Spock's gaze, and showed the utter want he had for him through them. "Len," Spock moaned, his breath hitching. McCoy could feel his mate's control eroding again, though this time, he saw that it was under a better pretense. He lifted his mouth from Spock's fingers. He craved the utter passion Spock had showed him in that kiss. The heat of it burned within him, and he wished for more, to walk into that fire. What his mate did to him…McCoy figured, a long time ago, that he was probably somewhat unbalanced to be pursuing this, but then again, he was for running off to space to begin with.

He didn't have time to consider it further, as Spock was biting and sucking on his lips. Spock's hands fell to his rear end, and McCoy groaned into his kisses as his lover squeezed his cheeks. Grasping into Spock's shoulders, McCoy ground his erection with need against Spock's, sweat beading on his brow. Spock squeezed harder, growling in his throat as he crushed their bodies together. McCoy spread his legs, and stepped off the floor, Spock supporting him as he brought his legs about him. McCoy, feeling dizzy, buried his head in Spock's neck. "What's wrong?" Spock breathed into his ear, sounding short of breath from his arousal.

"You saw me dangling from the chains," he answered.

"Do you desire to be put down?"

"No," McCoy breathed, and licked at the sweat upon Spock's neck, "Just hold me tight, love."

Spock's breathing staggered as McCoy began to nibble on his ear lobe. Gathering himself again, he replied, "Certainly."

He slowly moved toward the bedroom, McCoy clinging to him. Despite the tight grip the Vulcan had on him, Leonard knew that if he said so, Spock would let him go. The Vulcan stopped, and stroked his thumb over McCoy's back, indicating that he was about to change position. McCoy's grip slowly loosened upon Spock, and he fell upon the bed beneath him.

McCoy sat up, and threw his arms about Spock, tugging him down for a kiss. Spock brought his palms down on either side of his mate on the bed, and slipped forward, placing him between his open legs. He lost himself for a moment in his warm mouth, his eyes closed at the pleasure of it. The next, however, he felt McCoy's hands slipping to tug on the hem of his tunic. He rose slightly, and McCoy scowled in frustration. "Damn thing's stuck."

Spock gave him a slight smirk. "Perhaps we should begin with you, then." McCoy raised an eyebrow at that but made no complaint. Spock tugged at his mate's tunic, and found he was also encountering error. McCoy smirked, and laughed at the situation, realizing that their clothing was stuck by sweat. Spock glanced up at him. "I fail to see the humor in this."

He sat up, and ruffled Spock's black hair with a hand. "I know, it's a mood killer. Maybe it's not really that funny. I'm just glad I can laugh about it, now."

Spock shook his head at him. "Leonard?"

"Yeah?"

He tilted his chin up with a thumb. "Shut up."

McCoy's response was to surge forward, and kiss Spock roughly, bending the Vulcan slightly backward on his knees. He tugged more roughly upon Spock's tunic until it at last gave and tugged it over him to drop on the floor. Spock, incensed, threw McCoy backward onto the bed's top cover, and tugged at his pants. McCoy, however, squirmed under him, and reached for Spock's undershirt.

"Being difficult again, Ashayam?" Spock asked with a knowing smirk.

Leonard grinned. "You know you like it."

Lowering his hand to Leonard's crotch, Spock teased him by rubbing along the fabric. McCoy bucked, and groaned. He refused to let go of Spock and stroked upward underneath his shirt. Spock moaned from the contact, his grip slackening once before regaining. A little game of theirs had begun again, and with such a willing prize writhing under him, Spock desired to win. Grasps on fabric turned to gropes. Boots thumped on the floor as they were kicked off. Wet, sweaty skin slapped against each other as both men wrestled each other on the bed. McCoy's breath caught as he nearly fell off the bed, his legs twined with Spock's saving him. He'd been wrestling Spock to the surface of the bed when he'd slipped sideways. "Oops," he muttered with a chuckle, hanging upside down as Spock tugged him up by the arms. He knew he had lost, but hadn't found much of a reason to care, as Spock seized his hands, and pinned them to the pillow beneath him. Lowering his head, Spock suckled at his nipples, one after the other.

McCoy groaned under him, arching upward. Spock held him down, and bit and nipped. He sucked on his skin, enjoying how his lover tasted, and the sheer vulnerability he exposed to him. He would mark him well. No other man or woman would touch him so intimately or see him so utterly bare. There were scars over him, as well as hardened pieces of skin. Forty years, mapped upon one man. Spock, wanting more of him with each bite, worked over him with abandon. McCoy mewed as Spock lowered his mouth and ran his tongue over his member. His breath stirred McCoy's pubic hair, and the doctor gave a sigh at the contact. Spock glanced up, and the visual was almost too much. Leonard's eyes were glazed with lust, and his cheeks were slightly reddened. His body was covered in his lover's marks. Then and there, Spock wanted to bring him to climax, but he waited, wondering at what the fragments of Leonard's thoughts were.

A very slight nod of the head was his answer, and he took Leonard's member into his mouth, and sucked on it. Leonard gave strangled cries and gasps, his hips raising to meet him. Spock worked over the shaft, sliding his mouth along it. Through their bond, he couldn't hide from his mate. Leonard could feel how lost Spock was in him. Want became need, and despite having him pinned, Spock begged for his release. Spock's palms rubbed up against his trapped hands, and one lifted slightly off, to trail a finger into McCoy's mouth, open from his gasps. The digit sliding over his lips and tongue was too much, and he arched once more, his head thrown back against the pillow as he came. Spock swallowed, and licked over his lover's penis. Groaning, he caught his breath, and recollected his thoughts, basic as they were now. He slipped forward over McCoy and smiled down at the sight of him as he removed his finger from his mouth. Leonard's head was lolling against the pillow, his eyelids fluttering. Spock kissed his cheek, and nuzzled up against him, stirring him back to alertness. McCoy turned his head slightly, and, due to his disorientation, missed Spock's head to kiss along the crook of his neck. Spock squeezed his hands affectionately.

"Look at yourself," Spock growled in his ear, causing Leonard's breath to catch. He allowed him up only slightly and kept his grip upon the doctor's arms. McCoy's breath hitched as he saw red marks from Spock nipping and sucking at his flesh. Unlike the tearing and burning the Vians had subjected him to, Spock's marks were gentle, as reminders of the pleasure he had given him, being in intimate places like his inner thighs, abdomen, and nipples.

Spock leaned down and licked along his neck. He sucked at it, and nibbled upon the flesh, causing McCoy to throw back his head with a strangled cry. Such tender, delicate skin he had. How very reactive he was, clawing at Spock's bare back, and kissing along the side of his head.

Before the time of Surak, Spock knew, it was not uncommon for Vulcans to fight to the death for their love, the bloodsport initiated by T'Pring's challenge being reminiscent of that. He'd found it illogical and was unable to fathom why battles were fought over lovers. But now, perhaps because he was so mentally wrecked himself, he could understand it. He felt willing to fight a war, if only to touch McCoy again. Between kisses and nibbles, he groaned endearments in his native tongue. Breaking off, he whispered in his ear, "You are mine, Leonard. Your body," his finger tweaked one of McCoy's tormented nipples, causing him to squirm, "and your soul."

A shaking hand found its way to his cheek. Spock raised himself slightly, and looked down at his mate. In a ragged voice, McCoy replied, "Goes both ways, darling." Spock shut his eyes, and, gripping his hand tight, buried his face into Leonard's palm, nuzzling up against it slowly. McCoy's other hand trailed up Spock's back, and stopped over the patch of healed skin, where he once been shot on Neural. It would have been fatal to a human, but Spock's differing anatomy had narrowly avoided that.

A dark eye opened and fixated upon him. There was an utter need, a hunger, in it, and McCoy was all to willing to satisfy him. Spock dropped his hand and scooted forward, McCoy lowering his hand from his back. Grasping Leonard's legs, one at a time, Spock brought them over his shoulders, the two of them smirking as his right leg slipped off the first time, and leaned forward, grasping his shoulders. Reaching blindly behind him, McCoy fumbled for the bedside drawer, grunting in annoyance until he found the knob. Tugging it open, he groped about for the bottle of lubricant before handing it to Spock. Releasing his mate's shoulders, the Vulcan covered his hands in lubricant. He stroked his cock with his right hand, and extended his left toward his mate. Leonard leaned up, spreading his legs further as Spock stretched him, his finger working into him. He mewed as Spock slowly inserted a second finger, stroking and parting him before at last entering a third. Spock ran his fingers deliberately slow to draw more sounds from him for longer. Removing them at last, he positioned himself, and, his eyes meeting Leonard's once more, drove into him. He grasped Leonard's shoulders, and leaned forward, placing his forehead to his mate's. Leonard held on for dear life, and admired the sight of Spock so utterly gone, gasping his name. Opening his mouth, he claimed Spock's voice in a deep kiss, their chests heaving against each other with their breaths. Spock was falling, and he fell with him, through fears, questions, and hopes. They burned together, and McCoy felt Spock's internal war with himself, never being settled.

Standing upon red sand, Spock turned his face toward a storm. It would never end, and only ebb, his human and Vulcan halves smashing against each other as he was yanked two different ways. A hand appeared on his shoulder, and he turned to see Leonard, bedraggled and utterly tired as he was. McCoy nodded, his hand tightening upon his shoulder. Spock drew him into his arms.

McCoy cried out, as he saw what Spock had nearly lost with his death. Spock came with a growl in his throat, Kirk's question to him, if only for a moment, making sense.

Spock fell upon him, utterly exhausted. McCoy groaned, and shifted him slightly to the side. He smiled and turned to look up at the ceiling in a daze. He placed a hand to his forehead as he found his bearings again. Spock snuggled up against him, his arm wrapping about him, and his face in his neck. McCoy's hand fell from his brow as he drifted off.

XXXXXX

McCoy woke to the gentle humming of the Enterprise. Turning to his side, he saw that his partner had gone. Footsteps in the anteroom, however, indicated that Spock hadn't gone far. Glancing down, he saw that his mate had thrown an additional blanket on his form while he had slept. His discarded clothing had been folded, and sat at the foot of the bed, his boots standing beside the small pile. He kneaded his hands, and sighed, bringing his face down into them to rub at his eyes. He had acted rather impulsively and had broken Spock's control much farther down than he had done in three years.

Slipping out of bed, he tugged on his clothing. There was the court martial to worry about, and two unsavory reprimands upon his record. He would simply have to deal with those. What stung about them, however, was that he had broken Jim's trust in him. While he'd managed to salvage Spock's trust in him, last night, he knew his captain and dear friend was very disappointed in him.

He braced himself on the edge of the bed and lowered his head. Then again, he had thought yesterday that he was going to die and scuttling his career hadn't much mattered. He worried about Gem, as well, considering the cold, mechanical manner that the Vians employed in their way of thinking. He'd clashed morally with Spock's way of thinking in the Vulcan manner, but realized, now, that they were far worse. He and Jim had been too physically weak to go after them, and Spock too mentally weak. He kicked himself over the latter. He was repulsed by the Vians, but precious little could be done. They were gone.

Figuring it was better to make himself useful, as well as to further avoid Spock for the moment, McCoy made the bed, and folded the blanket over. He felt familiarity with the blanket, its Vulcan characters being ones that occasionally escaped into his dreams. Finding he could put it off no further, he emerged quietly into the anteroom.

Spock was working on his PADD, sparing him a glance up. "There is coffee," he commented quietly.

"Thanks," he replied, stopping to rub at his eyes. "What the hell did I do last night?" McCoy muttered.

Spock didn't bother looking up this time. "After we returned from Minara II, you had your uniform replaced, and the remainder of your wounds, inflicted by the Vians, healed. Afterwards was a disciplinary mee—"

"That was a rhetorical question," McCoy cut him off. Spock fell silent and didn't say anything else. The doctor squared himself. "I shouldn't have made you get like that. And then to pop the question afterward…I'm sorry."

"Do not be," Spock chided, his dark eyes meeting his, "You did not force me to say 'yes.'"

"No, but I handled it poorly. You were upset, and all I gave was a flimsy apology after making you cry. And then what do I do? Take you to bed." McCoy's frustration at himself was plain to hear. His fists clenched and unclenched. It had a shade of the past, with one of his arguments with Jocelyn devolving into intercourse. He grimaced, knowing Spock, due to McCoy's calling forth the memory, could sense it. Self-consciously, he muttered, "'Don't go to sleep angry with each other,' Dad used to tell me. I got that wrong."

He at last put the PADD down. "The fault was partially my own. I should have better controlled myself. There is the matter of your court martial that must be handled. I only added a complication."

"Well, to be fair, you had good reason," McCoy replied, running a hand self-consciously over his neck, knowing that the hickeys Spock had given him were standing out in the light. Amusement from Spock flickered through their bond. It dissipated, however, as he asked, "Is there anything else you wanted to address?"

Spock's shoulders lowered in exhaustion. "Leonard McCoy, you are an utterly difficult human being to live with. Your irrationality makes you arduous to predict and to converse with, to put it lightly. You also often fall victim to your own pride." He could take that. Jocelyn had yelled at him in their arguments, as the emotional distance between them had grown, due to his burying himself in work. She hadn't been the only instigator, his moodiness and exhaustion from work causing him to snap.

"Think we'll make it work?" McCoy muttered.

"Are you not satisfied with how we have been together, thus far?" Spock inquired.

"It's not now that I'm worried. People change over time, especially when they live together." He didn't want to voice his point further and realized that he did not have to. Spock's slight shift in position indicated that he understood.

"We will change, t'hy'la, that is inevitable," he replied. Folding his arms, he continued, "I have also contemplated this. We may become distant, or closer to each other over time, but we are bound to one another."

"We can break it," McCoy pointed out.

Spock nodded. "Yes, of course we can, as we could cancel our relationship as lovers, or break off our engagement. It would be cruel for one of us to force the other to remain."

He made it sound so logical, and so simple, but his mate knew better. Concepts of their relationship were still difficult for him to grasp, such as the depth of their bond. However, he caught himself. While the Vulcan was younger than him, and effectively between two worlds, he wasn't naïve, or helpless. He'd seen Spock's bride challenge him, after all. Despite that, however, misgivings remained. McCoy shook his head. "You don't have a definite answer."

"You do not, either," Spock replied, "Neither of us can see into the future, but I will tell you that I do not regret involving myself with you. I can raise you this. We have argued, multiple times, but we remain together. Our professions often cross into each other. We also know more of one another, due to our bond."

"I guess it'll have to be enough, then." He was still troubled by his past, and it continued to cast shadows over him. "I don't think I can forgive myself, for putting Joanna through that. She saw the worst of her mother and me. Then after Jocelyn left, I should have been there for her. But I—" he shook his head, "—I couldn't. I was too focused on my own anguish. I couldn't let Joanna see me like that. She'd already seen more than enough. When she needed me most, I left."

"If you are expecting for your daughter to see you as a perfect being, you will only be disappointed," Spock admonished. McCoy knew he was speaking from experience on that but chose against prodding him about Sarek. Similarly, he didn't prod him about Joanna.

"I'll try to see her sometime. Probably should properly introduce you now," he mused with a chuckle. His expression became faraway as reality sunk in. "We're getting married," McCoy quietly commented.

"That is typically what betrothed individuals do, yes," Spock replied.

"Feels nice, knowing that." Spock understood that McCoy said that more to convince himself of it. McCoy moved toward him, and he felt his apprehension, much to his own surprise, mirrored, and beginning to build within Spock. T'Pring, after all, had tried to have him killed. He'd take care of Spock to the best of his ability. He had to have done something right in his life, if Spock had told him yes. Spock rose, and placed one hand upon his shoulder. In his other hand he grasped Leonard's firmly, and brought it up between them.

Squeezing McCoy's fingers, he replied, "Indeed, Len, it does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated on cutting out Spock shedding a tear in this, but considering how he nearly lost McCoy, I thought his reaction was warranted.
> 
> I need to write more fanfics involving these two just enjoying their time together, as opposed to milestone fanfics in their relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> I was not expecting this to get so long. Originally, this was intended to be a one-shot, but I split it into three chapters. In my fanfic universe's timeline, McCoy and Spock mentally bonded after the events of "The Immunity Syndrome." However, I am still working on writing that part of the story, and I tend to update this universe in sporadic installments, though it follows a linear timeline.
> 
> While "The Empath" is one of my favorite episodes of TOS, there are several issues with it from a writing standpoint. Some of the major problems are the Vians' way of saving another sentient race, taking three men captive when only one test subject is needed, and McCoy not being punished for tranquilizing Spock and Kirk, despite his intentions. This is my interpretation of the questions I have about this episode, but I won't insist this is canon (and frankly, Star Trek is very much open to differing headcanon).
> 
> Continuity Notes: Donna McCoy (married name Withers) is referenced in Dreams of the Raven by Carmen Carter, and met by Kirk in Crisis on Centaurus by Brad Ferguson. She was not given any speaking lines in either book, so I had a blank slate to work with. Dr. David McCoy having a strained relationship with his son due to Eleanora McCoy dying in childbirth is from Crucible: McCoy: The Provenance of Shadows by David George III. The Darnells, McCoy's community being closed to new families, and Jocelyn having a pre-arranged marriage to Clay Treadway are from Shadows on the Sun by Michael Jan Friedman. I actually do not take Star Trek I or V as part of my personal canon due to various reasons, but there are three elements from V that I include: the camping scene between Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, McCoy terminating his father's life support, and Scotty and Uhura eventually forming a relationship. I have seen fan interpretations where doctor or family-assisted euthanasia is legal in Star Trek, and went off of that. Conyers is never mentioned as McCoy's hometown, but I've seen this as his town in multiple fan works, due to DeForest Kelley hailing from there.


End file.
